


Twins of (Somewhat) Different Mothers

by OtakuElf



Series: Biological Clock [6]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Adoption, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-17
Updated: 2015-12-17
Packaged: 2018-05-07 07:10:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5447753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OtakuElf/pseuds/OtakuElf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft and Greg visit Lestrade's sister, and two of the children adopted from the Initiative.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twins of (Somewhat) Different Mothers

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to beta-reader Lunamoth116!
> 
> I do, of course, keep thinking about different people in these stories. Impossible not to.

Detective Inspector Lestrade’s sister had not inherited the prematurely grey hair that Greg had. Not that anyone other than Mycroft Holmes might notice, as she was a serial hair dyer. Today the slightly frizzy short cut was a reddish-brown with burgundy highlights. It suited her skin tone, which was good as some of her experiments with colouration had not. Mycroft, himself a natural ginger, glanced at the man who had become such an important part of his life, and imagined Gregory with a similar colour. 

Not subtly enough, for Greg leant slightly over to him from where they had been seated on Dolores Lestrade Camford’s loveseat. It was a tight fit, but neither of them minded. Greg said, sotto voce, “None of that. I like my hair color as it is.”

Mycroft was amused. “Was I so very obvious?”

“Probably not.” Greg’s chuckle was warm and inviting.

“Perhaps,” Mycroft suggested in his lover’s ear, “you could spike your hair up. With purple mixed in?”

“Now you’re talking!” Greg laughed just as warmly as his chuckle had been. Mycroft could feel the laugh where their bodies were packed in together in the well-stuffed arms of the love seat.

“None of that, you two,” came from Dolores as she unpacked the wicker basket of pastries onto the coffee table. “You’ve plenty of time to talk to your boyfriend, Greg. We don’t see Mycroft nearly enough!” she said, ignoring Greg’s overly shocked face at the word “boyfriend”.

Dolores could give off the same naughty twinkle of an eye that Greg had more and more lately. 

“I will do my best to resist his blandishments, my dear!” Mycroft deliberately used a more academic speech around Greg’s family. This was not to put them in their place, as some of his peers might assume. The Lestrade extended family seemed to honestly find this affectation amusing. In fact they understood the word play Mycroft slipped into his phrasing more often than not.

The family was educated, and well-read, if not interested in the same subjects that Mycroft enjoyed. Dolores was also trying to get, as she put it, “a little more meat on those bones. Honestly, Mycroft, it’s a sin how thin you are!”

The single time Dolores had met Sherlock, his brother had made a derogatory comment about Mycroft’s weight correlating to his love of cake. Dolores had rounded on Mycroft’s baby brother fiercely in the elder brother’s defense. 

They were waiting for Dolores’s granddaughter and grandson-in-law to arrive with the twins. It had been decided that the pair of children adopted by Evelyn and Jonathan were to be considered twins. They had the same biological mother (Harriet Watson) and father (Sherlock Holmes), and had been born on the same day, if not to the same surrogate. Mycroft had not seen any of the children from the Institute - with the exception of Siger, of course - since their adoption, except in surveillance photographs. 

The whirlwind arrival of the small family left Mycroft stuck wedged into the overly soft loveseat next to Greg. It was a relief, actually, to not be required to stand on ceremony. Baby gates were set up to corral the children into the living area where the adults were seated. Both children, Emma and Daniel, were released to crawl about while their elders had tea and chatted. “Catching up” Dolores called it, as she “played mother” and passed the tea around.

Mycroft relaxed into the loving arms of the loveseat, and leaned slightly more against Greg as he listened to the flow of language around him. His eyes were on the children - his niece and nephew, biologically, and Greg’s great grandniece and great grandnephew legally.

They did not look like Siger, which surprised him. He had expected that vivid red hair, the face that was a mixture of his own and Sherlock’s. These were very much Watson genes prevailing. The children obviously felt comfortable together. They were rarely out of orbit from one another. Their hair was not the straw-coloured straightness of John’s; it was brown, with red and blond highlights. The eyes were blue, a vivid blue that shone. They were both smaller than Siger; perhaps shorter was the better phrase. Mycroft knew to the millimeter how long each was; he had access to their medical records after all. They were in the middle of the height range for their age group, and for the weight as well. Siger was at the top of his for height, and median for weight.

Their noses were short, like Sherlock’s in an almost pug. “Well, what do you think?” came a voice at his elbow. Evelyn Pritchard knelt by the arm of his chair, balancing a teacup filled with very milky tea and a couple of biscuits’ worth of crumbs.

“They look happy and healthy, Evelyn. How are you holding up?” he asked, because he knew that was the expected thing.

“Oh, some days better than others,” laughed Evelyn. “They’re a handful. Very bright, and always on the go!”

Mycroft could not help but compare them to Siger, who was immeasurably bright, and constantly active. He declined to comment on that. “What are you reading to them?”

The conversation swerved to the books that Mycroft had sent the family, and to other favourite titles. The afternoon passed pleasantly enough. It was decided that they would do this again, but including Sherlock and John and Siger the next time. The location would remain Dolores’s apartment, as the thought of bringing all of these people to Baker Street was asking for trouble.

“Besides,” Dolores said, “I want to see John and Sherlock’s baby!”


End file.
